


Towards the Red Star

by Ramzes



Series: A Lady with a Past and Perhaps a Future, Even [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-09 10:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10410321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: Three moments leading Rhaegar Targaryen to his prophecy. Sometimes, he knows it. But not always.





	1. Rhaenys

They had wished for a son. Instead, a girl arrived, a tiny thing born as darkness drew near, amidst panicked cries because as soon as the afterbirth emerged, her mother started bleeding so heavily that they thought for sure they had lost her. Only when they managed to staunch the bleeding with vile-smelling potions that Elia was almost too light-headed to drink and thick white lengths of cloth they had to change two times before they stopped turning crimson did they think of bathing the newborn and sending a man to Prince Rhaegar's solar.

Rhaegar's first reaction was horror. For a few terrible moments, he was convinced that Elia had just given him another monstrosity in the Targaryen list. The child was purple – not her eyes but the patches of her skin that were not ghastly yellow. As to the eyes… he saw none. There were no eyes!

The maester was smiling and the midwife was pushing the babe at him, as proud as if she herself had delivered her. Rhaegar's panic abated. He took the small bundle and squinted at it. In the candlelight, it still looked nothing like any babe he had ever laid his eyes upon. Rather, she resembled a squire after a good beating. "Why are her eyes closed?" he asked.

"She was under a very bad angle for pushing," the midwife said. "She beat her head against the womb for hours and…" She paused and took the babe back in quite a hurry. Rhaegar was grateful because he felt lightheaded. He had never known that birth might be painful for babes as well.

As well…

"How is the Princess?" he asked, suddenly realizing that no one had told him about her. They didn't look happy to do it now either.

Two days later, Elia's fever broke. She sank into a peaceful sleep but when she woke up, illness had not left her entirely. She seemed to know who Ashara Dayne was but she had trouble recognizing Rhaegar at first. And she seemed to have forgotten that she had given birth. She didn't ask about the babe once, although the maesters told Rhaegar she looked confused when they changed the bandages on her leaking breasts. Of course, they couldn't put the child to the breast when Elia was so ill. They had chosen a healthy wetnurse instead.

At the fourth day, Rhaegar already knew that naming the babe could not be delayed any further and it was clear that Elia was unable to participate. He only prayed that it was temporary, that she'd claim both her body and mind from the low fever that did not seem dangerous to her life but left her unable to leave her bed – or find her way in the halls if she somehow managed to rise. Ashara Dayne was very young and not very good at hiding her feelings, so Rhaegar felt judged and found wanting each time he entered his lady wife's chambers already wishing to be on the way out. The sight of Elia without her charm, without her conversation and laughter, the light gone from her eyes and the sun fled from her skin was terrible to behold.

The babe had started getting better as well. The bruises faded slightly and the sick pallor of her skin turned back to the colour she would keep from now on. Elia's colour. Not the dragon's. Rhaegar felt ashamed for thinking about this at such a moment but he could already hear what his father's court would start whispering the moment they laid eyes on his daughter. The documents regarding Baelor Breakspear, a son of a Dornish mother and Dornish looking himself were still alive in his head. And the child was a disappointment. Not an heir. Not a dragon. So tiny that he sometimes felt irrationally angry – Elia had suffered this long, was still not herself and _this_ was the result? These thoughts shamed him most of all.

"Rhaenys," he finally announced, although there was nothing dragonlike about her. "She will be Rhaenys."

"A good name," Jon agreed. Lewyn and Arthur, though, stood shell-shocked.

"Are you serious about this?" Lewyin finally managed and Rhaegar stared at him, taken aback.

"What's wrong?"

"You cannot name her this!" Lewyn exclaimed and Arthur started nodding vigorously in agreement. Next to him, his sister was staring at Rhaegar, agog. "Do you not know how Queen Rhaenys fared in Dorne? Do you want to name her after torture and drawn out death?"

"The Queen Who Never Was died by fire and was charred beyond recognition!" Ashara chimed in, for the first time allowing herself cross the line of propriety this openly. "That's a bad omen – and I can tell you what exactly we think of the first Rhaenys in Dorne!"

Jon shook his head. "Dornish," he murmured.

"Do you want to tell us something, Connington?" Arthur asked very softly. Lewyn didn't quite put his hand on his sword but the movement was noticeable.

"Stop it!" Rhaegar said sharply. "All of you!" he added before Jon could preen. Looking at them, it crossed his mind that Elia's way of letting her friends get this close was perhaps not as wise as he had started to think. He had followed her lead and that was where he found himself now. Just a year ago, Arthur would have never issued a challenge in his presence, let alone that a Kingsguard would have never allowed himself to meddle in Rhaegar's personal affairs. And of course, Jon would have never let out such a dismissive remark.

"She will be named after the woman who founded our dynasty," he said. "Both the first Rhaenys and the second one were women of note. That's what I want for her."

"Don't you want that her mother be able to say her name without foreboding and revulsion?" Lewyn demanded.

For a moment Rhaegar saw Elia, white under her covers, unaware that she even had a child. His sympathy and guilt were overwhelming. Almost. "Elia will be unable to make any suggestions," he said calmly. "The babe cannot stay nameless any longer. And in any way, the final decision is mine. Both women by the name of Rhaenys were beloved and that's what I want for her," he added, rocking his daughter slightly. She cracked an eye open and closed it again. Her face shifted into something that Rhaegar knew couldn't be a smile but he smiled back nonetheless, he couldn't help himself.

He couldn't say that the little one was disadvantaged already thanks to her Dornish looks – both the olive-skinned Lewyn and the fair Daynes would take it as offense, instead of fact. Giving her such a haloed name would make things easier for her, remind everyone that she was a true dragon, although she didn't look like it.

And Rhaenys had been the queen who had been beloved… He looked down and smiled again at the babe who had fallen asleep.

But when weeks later, Elia looked at him with horror in her eyes, her hands reaching for their daughter frantically as if she wanted to shield Rhaenys from him, he felt the first true shadow in their marriage looming so close that he felt its chilly breath.

 


	2. A Scarlet Tear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented!

The moment Elia reached out and took Rhaenys in her arms, the babe stopped crying – something that she seemed to do mostly for her mother and the wetnurse. Her pitiful whimpers started fading as Elia placed her atop of herself – rocking was still something she didn't have the strength to do. Soon, Rhaenys snuggled contentedly against her mother and Elia nuzzled her head before looking up.

"How are you feeling?" Rhaegar asked but he could say she was better. The curtains were pulled aside to let whatever sunlight there was, at the coffer near the bed sat a tray with half-emptied plates while at his departure, she had been unable to take anything more than a blood orange at one sitting. Next to her, a hastily abandoned book lay and Rhaegar took it and inspected it for any damages. Elia was a keen reader but her nonchalant attitude to handling books was not something he appreciated.

"Better," she said. "How did it go?"

He hesitated. "Fine," he said and then immediately changed the subject. "Rhaenys might turn out to be a good mariner," he said. "Looks like the motion of the sea soothes her to sleep."

Elia smiled. "She might," she said. "So, what happened?"

The sharpness of her mind seemed to be back in full force as well. Rhaegar hesitated. "My father didn't like her," he said. "He refused to hold her."

Elia looked down and her shoulders slumped. Her arms squeezed Rhaenys so tight that the babe squirmed and gave a low whimper. But before he could think of what to say, if he should mention his father's actual cruel words, she looked up and asked, "So, is the word spreading around the realm already? That I gave you a Dornish child and not a dragon one?"

"It does," he admitted.

For a while, there was only silence. Twilight started creeping in after a too short, winter day. Rhaegar looked at the two dark heads above the covering and tried to imagine them under the bright sun where they belonged. He had only been in Dorne two times and didn't like it but it was Elia's place, and Rhaenys'. No. Her place is with me. She's a dragon, no matter what she looks like.

"Are you angry with me?" Elia's voice was low, uncertain. "I will give you a son, I will! A son with fair hair and purple eyes. Someone who will…." She didn't finish.

_Someone who will be different from Rhaenys – and Baelor Breakspear?_ he wondered.

"I am not angry with you, Elia," he said. "I am angry with myself. I should have done something about my father long ago."

He had been too wrapped in the prophecy to truly take the measure of what was going on. His father's sycophants were, of course, fully aware but they preferred it this way. Perhaps that was his destiny. He wasn't the Prince Who Was Promised as he had thought for so long but perhaps his fate was to save the Seven Kingdoms from his father's madness. He looked at his lady wife. Infinitely better. As perceptive as ever. A little bored to be in this bed, perhaps. "Listen," he said. "There is going to be a tourney soon…"

He didn't know how soon. It depended on how fast she would recover – and that was not even for the maesters to know. Still, it felt good to be able to share his plans with someone. Someone who wasn't in his service anyway. An equal, more or less. And he felt delighted when she looked at him with interest. To make her day better felt surprisingly nice.

It was well past twilight when he left her bedchamber and was surprised to see that Arthur and Jon still waited for him. "You should have gone to your rooms," he said. "When you saw I wasn't coming out. I had no idea it was this late," he added, taken aback by the sight of the stars twinkling from the gap between the curtains.

He noticed the shadow that crossed Jon's face but he wouldn't feel guilty. No. Taking delight in his own lady wife's company was not something that he had done _to_ Jon.

Arthur merely shrugged. "I wanted to talk to… Ser Lewyn," he said, the pause making it clear that despite the year of shared service, Lewyn was still Arthur's prince. It didn't make Rhaegar feel uncomfortable but… it made him feel uncomfortable. The Kingsguard only had one prince, one family.

"I want to talk to you," he said, indicating all three. In fairness, he knew as little about Arthur and Jon's thoughts as he did about Lewyn. It was never wise to discuss treason with Varys closer than thirty miles! And aboard the ship, he had been trying to find out what his own thoughts were. "Thank you, Ser Lewyn," he added. "It looks that in my absence, all of you here have taken good care of Elia."

The Dornishman shrugged. "It was Lady Ashara," he said readily. "She's so vigorous, this child. It's good to be young, I suppose. She even made changes in Elia's chambers, so she'd have some new things to greet her when she can rise."

Rhaegar looked around and indeed got the impression of a different air. One item in particular held his eye. A portrait that didn't look all that new, with the technique that had spread from Essos to Dorne and the rest of the kingdoms for those who enjoyed it. The image was painted on wood. Rhaegar squinted.

"Ha! This is the Sad Lady!" Arthur exclaimed. "What is she doing here?"

"Ashara found her in an abandoned room," Lewyn explained. "She was so dusty that it took two days of cleaning to make out the face."

Curious, Rhaegar went closer. A young woman in the typical bright Dornish robes stared back at him. She wore heavy bracelets. A golden chain with three rubies graced her forehead. A creamy veil fell behind her back, revealing the upper part of hair that the sun had turned from fair gold to almost silver. Her skin was golden as well, almost coppery, and that made her violet eyes stand out even more.

"Is she a fool?" Jon asked, staring at her with faint distaste. "Decked out like this, with this looks of hers…"

"What's wrong with her looks?" Arthur asked but if Jon had noticed the warning undertone of his voice, he didn't show it. Lewyn grinded his teeth but said nothing.

"Well, look at her!" Jon waved a dismissive hand, pointing out – Rhaegar was sure – the contrast between the bright eyes, the fair hair and the skin that was just a touch darker than Elia's. "It isn't normal. Who looks like this?"

"Why, my little sister…"

_With your mother being as dark as she is, I am not surprised,_ Rhaegar thought. Actually, he remembered being surprised at just how little – almost nothing – of Lady Dayne there was in Arthur. And he wondered if he had truly realized how greatly looks mattered when he had chosen the smart, witty Elia Martell who could put everyone at ease.

"Let me introduce you to Lady Aurelia Dayne," Lewyn said pleasantly, as if he was indeed bringing to their attention a lady at court. "She was Arthur's… great-aunt, I believe? Yes, I think that was it. She was rumoured to be the only woman Daeron the Drunk ever loved but she was already trapped waiting for a child groom to grow up. She died young not long after her waiting ended."

"How sad," Jon said without much sympathy and Rhaegar couldn't help but wonder…

Arthur said something in a harsh tone. Jon retaliated. Lewyn stood rigidly, forcing himself to not say anything, not do anything. Rhaegar stared at the painted face, the details, down to the expression, caught better on wood than they could ever go in a tapestry, and once again realized that the reason his father had accepted his choice of Elia had been to turn the rest of the kingdoms against him. The whispers that had greeted Rhaenys at court echoed in his head and he was suddenly scared that things would go even worse if Elia gave him a child that was neither a dragon nor snake – and so clearly both. And this fear was not alleviated at all by the realization that if the wood reflected reality, Aurelia Dayne had been the most glamorous of women.

_I have to act now,_ he thought. As soon as Elia recovers. _Before my father grows worse. Before another child arrives, a child that could be used against us._

But of course, he would wait. He'd make sure that Elia had truly left this horrible ordeal behind.

* * *

Six months after Rhaenys' birth, she finally did. Leaning on Ashara's arm, she rose from her bed and walked to the antechamber where she smiled at the sight of the Sad Lady – Rhaegar had already learned that the tragic Lady of Starfall was kind of legend in Dorne. She sat by Rhaenys' cradle and rocked it until their daughter went to sleep, to the consternation of the rock-cradler who often found herself out of occupation for days. She strolled – slowly – through the wind-swept gardens, enjoying the taste of freedom.

A week after she first left her bed, Rhaegar looked at her with question in his eyes as they rose after supping in the great hall, and she shook her head. "I am not quite ready," she said with a faint trace of excuse. "When I am, I'll let you know immediately."

He didn't mind waiting until she felt better.

Until the red star came. The comet. The truth… As he stood at the window and watched it flash through a dark sky, unrelieved by no stars and no moon, it all became so clear that he wondered how it had never occurred to him before – when his mother had repeatedly failed to bring a living child into the world. The Prince Who Was Promised. The dragon. The three heads.

The bleeding star…

It had never been about him at all. Salt and smoke. Dragonstone.

The bleeding star…

Now he knew why he had been firm in naming his daughter Rhaenys against the objections of everyone and the anguish he had known it would cause Elia. Not only because of the babe herself. It had all been fate.

The bleeding star…

No. Elia was still weak, still tired easily. Still hadn't told him that she was ready to accept him back in her bed. Could he really put her to the strain of another burden like the one she had barely left behind?

The words from the scrolls flashed before his eyes. The years he had spent studying old parchments. The practice he had not even enjoyed. His determination to do his duty no matter what. But it had been so easy to say no matter what when the _what_ had been him and not a woman who trusted him. Someone who had just made him the greatest present of all.

The fate of the world was at stake.

With this thought in mind, he turned, walked to the door, opened it. Strode down the hall.

Elia startled awake, gasping. He could feel her bones when he lifted her nightgown, bones that had not been as sharply defined when he had last made love to her, more than nine months ago. He pushed this thought away. "Please Elia, do not move. It'll be easier this way… I'll be as tender as I know how…"

She was rigid and cold like a stone in his arms. Not due to his plea, he realized. She tried not to move because she was in pain. Hating himself, he went on anyway, trying not to look at the silent tears cascading down her cheeks as she bunched her fists in the sheet to stop herself from pushing him away.

 


	3. In the Heart of Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented!

 Rhaegar's general policy towards crawling children was generally to move out of their way. Not that he had experience with many children – in fact, his experience was limited to Viserys and his own attempts to prevent the little boy from crashing into him – by the Seven, how had he been able to _move_ so fast? Just a glance away, a step without looking at his feet, and he might walk right over his brother. He had had little time and even less patience to examine Viserys' pattern of movement closely, which was why Rhaenys' took him aback. He had never known there were so many _ways_ to crawl – on all fours, on two hands and one bent leg, letting the other lag behind, on hands and toes. His favourite one was when she'd sit down and start pushing herself backwards with her hands. Those were the moments most likely to make him laugh, lately.

The nursemaid hurried towards them but he waved her back, leaned over, and lifted his daughter the moment before her back hit the wall. Rhaenys wailed indignantly but laughed when he lifted her higher yet, her howl turning into a shriek of delight. When he brought her down, three tiny teeth glowed in the candlelight and he wondered when she'd get to start using them on everything she encountered.

She squirmed and he left her on the floor. He looked at Elia and hesitated but she smiled and beckoned him near. Rhaenys loved seeing them next to each other and when he put an arm around Elia and brought his head close to hers, their daughter grinned widely.

"Come here," Elia said, holding out her hands.

Ashara hurried over and brought the child to her mother. Rhaegar reached to adjust her against Elia's protruding belly and was delighted when his lady wife did not stiffen at his touch. It had felt like eternity for the ice to melt, for her to start talking to him again and not just answer, to not get tense each time he touched her hand or growing belly. And in this time, he had regretted the madness that had come over him not one time but ten. One hundred. No pair of grey eyes, no display of valour were worth his children's mother losing her affection for him. At the same time, he had been angry with Elia. She was Dornish. Her parents had been notorious for the peculiar arrangements of their marriage. She, of all women, should have understood the wants of the heart – or the instincts for honouring those who deserved it. Rhaegar was still not sure what had prompted him to crown Lyanna Stark.

Rhaenys started squirming but Ashara now stood near the window, gazing outside. Elia was about to call her over but Rhaegar reached over and took Rhaenys from her. "It's time that she goes to bed," he said.

"She's overtired, that's why she's acting up," Elia agreed. Her hand went to her belly that was visibly lurching under her gown.

"You didn't eat much tonight," he said.

"I won't starve your son, I promise you!"

Sometimes, she said things like this, things that made him wonder if she believed she was only the vessel meant to bring the Prince Who Was Promised in this world to him. Sometimes, he thought she hadn't forgiven… anything. The night of their son's conception had marked the start of the precipice dividing them that Harrenhall had only deepened. And just when he thought they had finally made the two ends meet, Elia said something that made him think that perhaps she did not think so.

She was a friend and partner. But even she could not understand him fully. Of course, it did not matter. Over the time, when their children rose to their fate, she would.

* * *

Rhaenys' screams of protest echoed in the colourful solar long after the little one had reached the nursery. Soon, she'd start walking and be put in leading strings. Would her mother be confined to bed again, Elia wondered. Would she only watch? Would she never take one of the strings in her own hands? Those thoughts seemed to grow along with the darkness that demanded more and more candles to be lit.

Elia, a hand still on her belly to calm down the active babe that seemed to have risen for some dancing now that her walking no longer lulled it to sleep, watched Ashara and wondered how long she would keep staring out into the night. In the last few weeks, her young companion had become unusually moody.

"What's going on with you?" she finally asked when it became clear that should she leave her to her own devices, Ashara would meet the morning mist that made one unable to see the fingers of their own hand, held up before their face, here, at the window. "Ashara?"

The girl slowly turned. "Yes? Do you need something, my Princess?"

"I need to know what's wrong with you," Elia said. "I've been watching you for days. You don't eat properly, you speak to no one unless addressed, you no longer hum. In fact, you look like the world has collapsed and buried you underneath!"

Even if Elia hadn't been so fond of Ashara, she was responsible for her – and she happened to be very fond of her. Once, they had been supposed to become kin… but there was no use to think about that now. Ashara was in a bad place and Elia had to know what was going on to help her get out of it. There was no one else to do it. Arthur would be happy to help, of course, but he had not even noticed how pale and wasted his sister was. He was a _man_.

_Well, I am a woman and I still can't understand what's going on._ In fact, Ashara looked much like Elia had five years ago. This realization chilled Elia. There was no reason for it… as far as she knew. "Do not tell me you are still longing over this Stark… which one was it, by the way?" she asked. "I never knew if it was the dashing one or the quiet one that caught your eye."

Ashara laughed a little. "You know I wish I could meet a man like your uncle but twenty years younger."

"That would be Oberyn," Elia said and this time, Ashara's laughter was real. She still could not believe that twenty years ago, Lewyn Martell had not been this much different from his nephew in some ways.

"No way!"

"Well, not in all ways," Elia acknowledged. "Find someone as faithful as him. And more than Oberyn," she suggested. Unbidden, the memory of Ashara's brother rose to her mind. How different her life with him would have been! She would not be the Princess of Dragonstone now but the future Lady of Starfall. Not carrying a supposed savior but perhaps a child she and Edric both wanted for himself – or herself. Dorne did not distinguish. How Edric had made her laugh! And he had had this gift that Elia found equally rare in both men and women – the ability to laugh at himself.

No, she had to stop thinking about him. Five years had passed and experience had taught her that letting herself think about what could have been, about the preparations for their wedding, about the magnificent wedding gown, yellow like the sun, that the seamstresses at Sunspear had sewed for her for many weeks, she would end up just as he wouldn't have wanted her to, biting the pillows of her bed to stifle the sobs. He had loved making her laugh and be lighthearted. No grave questions how she felt from him, no looking at her as if he wondered what she couldn't do. Instead, he had focused on all the things she could do. All he had cared about was life and that was all that she had cared about, too.

It was strange how much grief had gone from her over time. It was strange how much there was still left to rise in the most unexpected moments. It was still there and she still missed him terribly, she missed him and wanted him to come back…

"He must be faithful," Ashara agreed, once again indulging in what they both knew she could never have. She was meant for political match, like Elia had been both times. Elia had just been lucky… for a while. "And cheerful. A good swordsman, of course. _And_ he must look at me as if he'd die for me."

"Edric used to look at me like this," Elia heard her own voice say. _And he did die for me,_ she thought and didn't say it. There was no need.

Ashara's eyes went softer. She came closer and touched her hand. Did she think Elia regretted that Rhaegar never looked at her this way? Did Elia regret it? Yes, she did. How selfish people were! She wanted him to love her despite her not loving him, despite her hating him sometimes for only seeing her like a vessel, or worse – someone whose part was to never contradict his wishes. He had not used to be like this once but her months confined to bed had changed his perception of her and she hated him for this, hated him even when she liked his powerful mind. She even held some grudging respect for his desire to do whatever was demanded of him to save the world – although it included bedding her when she had not recovered fully yet! _I am going mad,_ Elia thought despairingly. _As mad as Aerys. The Mad Princess._

"Do not think of him now, Elia," she said softly. "It'll make you sad and this isn't good for the babe either. We don't want a sad prince, do we?"

_No_ , Elia thought. One would last her a lifetime! She wanted bronze skin and hair that the sun had turned more silver than gold, black eyes like those of the men of the desert and House Qorgyle, strong arms to carry her to bed with utmost desire, laughter as inevitable as the desert wind… With the crowning of Lyanna Stark, Edric Dayne had risen to life, escaped the small confines of her mind that she had finally managed to stuff him into, stole back to haunt her nights and even days with the taunt of what was lost, missed on, never lived.

Ashara kept talking about the babe as if she knew it would be a boy. Naturally, she assumed that Elia wished for a son as well. She did wish for one but Ashara had no idea of the vengeful twinges that sometimes made her long for a girl. Even to her, Elia had not confided the truth about her babe's conception.

"I could ask my lady mother to come visit with Allyria," Ashara suddenly said. Had she realized Elia's desperate fear that this time, she would not cheat the Stranger? "If you want to."

Elia hesitated, longing burning in her as hot as the flame of Rhaegar's belief. "I'd love it," she finally said, against her better judgment. Everything else aside, no one stayed unchanged at Dragonstone – she, Rhaegar, even Ashara.

A sharp sound echoed in the silent solar. For a moment, Elia did not know what it was. And then, at Ashara's gasp, she looked down at herself. A huge wet stain was spreading all over her skirts.

The birth had started, two weeks early.

* * *

It was three weeks before the maesters told Rhaegar that yes, Elia would live. That was the time milk fever finally relinquished its hold over Elia's torn, tortured body. How she had survived an infection this worse on the top of all the blood she had lost in birth, no one could explain. And Rhaegar was happy that she had. He simply didn't know if he'd be able to look her in the eye. Not after the whispers that she had been screaming another man's name when the pains had made her lose her mind. Not after he had heard her whisper it when the fever had had her in her thrall. He – and all the maesters and ladies as well.

It hadn't come as a surprise. Many times, he had felt that Elia did not love him truly but he had not expected it of her. After all, love was not the reason he had chosen her either. But he had not expected to have his face rubbed in her love for a dead man either. And certainly not in front of everyone! The future King of Westeros unable to win his lady wife's affections over the heir of a mere lord who had been dead for years? It… stung. Wasn't what they had built together enough to make her feel even remotely content?

Finally, he understood how she must have felt like at Harrenhall. Why she had been hurt. Why it had mattered. _Forgive me, my lady. I did not know._ And yet this knowledge was a precious gift. It freed him of guilt. Now, they were even.

And yet, and yet… He stared at her face, small and white, resting peacefully for the first time in weeks, and wondered that the prophecy should bind him to a woman who could not touch his heart. Who, in her heart of hearts, was a stranger to him and he, to her.

Swish of robes made him turn back and sigh, rising to make room for the coming man. "I thought the Princess was well enough not to merit any more visits for tonight, Maester Ruban."

The old man only gave Elia a precursory look but his delight at her progress was evident. "She is," she said. "But I have some grave news to give you, Your Grace…"

* * *

**The End**

 


End file.
